


Split Screen Sadness

by waywardrenegade



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Character Death, F/M, Future Fic, M/M, Melancholy, Nostalgia, but ultimately not sad, don't know what else to tag it with so no one's surprised
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-24
Updated: 2015-01-24
Packaged: 2018-03-08 22:12:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3225308
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/waywardrenegade/pseuds/waywardrenegade
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I have a son now. Not sure if you heard that,” Brad says, pride evident in his voice and the smile he can’t help but wear whenever he speaks of Luca.</p>
<p>“I had actually; your mom told my mom who told me. You know how small towns work,” Vinny laughs as he talks, eyes crinkling up at the corners. It’s as if their friendship hasn’t missed a beat, like nothing’s changed even if everything has.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Split Screen Sadness

**Author's Note:**

> In case my tags/warnings didn't make it clear enough, please allow me to reiterate that there is a character death in this. (It's the first I've ever written, so I've obsessed over it and rewritten it countless times.) I don't want anyone caught off guard.
> 
> Many thanks to [kindofdanceit](http://archiveofourown.org/users/kindofdanceit) for listening to me whine constantly about this story and assuring me it wasn't the trash heap I'd feared it'd become.
> 
> Title is from the John Mayer song of the same name because a) I'm horrible with titles and b) it was on repeat for nearly the entire time I was writing this. (If you have a better one, please let me know because I'm like 99.6% sure this doesn't work well.)

The Vancouver rain is chilly, with the unrelenting wind cutting through Brad’s Under Armour jacket, but he has to do this. He holds the little crushed blue velvet bear up against the steel hued clouds, the skyline a perfect backdrop as he stands in Stanley Park, surrounded by the Pacific. When he gets the angle just right, Brad hits the shutter button on his iPhone and double checks the photo before he’s satisfied and jogs to catch up with Corey and Jon.

When he’s in Toronto a few days later, Brad talks the Hockey Hall of Fame security guard into letting him put the bear atop Dryden’s mask and snaps that picture too.

His wife, Rechelle, had picked the bear up at a boutique in Manhattan before they’d moved to Chicago. After Luca had been home from the hospital for a few days, Rechelle had nestled the stuffed bear near their newborn son’s slight frame, taking care to tuck them both beneath the covers.

It started the first time Brad had to leave for a road trip. He couldn’t tell you why exactly, but he’d packed the bear gently among his worn sleep shirts and a new tie from his mom. Brad wanted to do something for his son, let him know right from the start how much he loved him.

Rechelle had sent him a picture message that night of Luca curled on his side, tiny fists clenched in the blankets like he was missing his furry friend. _It’ll be worth it_ , Brad had typed back, an idea already semi-formed in his head. He fired off another message immediately after; _I love you, babe._ Brad knows he’s a lucky man, and his little family means everything to him.

A few weeks later, while he’s in Philadelphia, Brad places the bear he’s taken to calling “Buddy” on the rope in front of the Liberty Bell. He makes sure the lighting is perfect, before he adds the picture to an album on his phone named “for my son”. Carbomb and Shawzy laugh at him and call him “dad” in high pitched whines, but Brad just grins at them before walking away.

Buddy goes to the Golden Gate Bridge, Madison Square Garden, the Statue of Liberty, and Niagara Falls in the subsequent months. Brad escorts him to TD Garden in Boston, a raucous Nashville honky tonk, and numerous airports, which admittedly start to look the same. Sometimes Brad takes selfies with Buddy, sometimes he’ll hold him up in the shot, and sometimes Brad asks a friend to take their picture. He’s pretty sure most of guys think he’s lost it, caught up in the early stages of fatherhood, but he finds he doesn’t mind.

During the next couple of months, it’s instinctual for Brad to take a photo of Buddy wherever he goes, printing them out each time he returns from a road trip. He carefully cuts away the excess paper and places each photograph in the plastic sheets of an album with silvery stars and a snippet of Tagore’s “Baby’s World” across the front.

_I wish I could take a quiet corner in the heart of my baby's very  
own world._

_I know it has stars that talk to him, and a sky that stoops  
down to his face to amuse him with its silly clouds and rainbows._

Over the summer, Rechelle and Brad take Luca back to Brad’s hometown on Prince Edward Island. Brad snaps photos of Luca holding Buddy close to his life jacketed chest while they’re out on the lake. He understands what people mean when they say having children changes you now. How your world view shifts and narrows until your child is the brightest shining beacon of light, hope, and love in your life.

The next day, Brad runs into Vinny Lecavalier, his very best friend in the world, though they haven’t spoken much lately. They catch up over a few beers and through mouthfuls of chipotle pub chicken sandwiches at a dive bar they used to sneak into as teenagers.

“I have a son now. Not sure if you heard that,” Brad says, pride evident in his voice and the smile he can’t help but wear whenever he speaks of Luca.

“I had actually; your mom told my mom who told me. You know how small towns work,” Vinny laughs as he talks, eyes crinkling up at the corners. It’s as if their friendship hasn’t missed a beat, like nothing’s changed even if everything has.

Brad then tells Vinny about the “Buddy Project” and how he’s been compiling photos from his travels to put in an album for Luca. The words have barely left his mouth before Vinny’s pulling Brad out the door, perching Buddy on Brad’s shoulder, and snapping a selfie of the three of them in front of the setting sun.

“There, now Luca’ll have a picture of his Uncle Vinny just in case his father forgets about him again,” Vinny teases as he claps Brad on the back. His smile is sunny and easy when Brad squints at him in the fading light. It brings back memories of beach bonfires, the ease of just being _together_ without a care in the world, and the summers spent without hockey.

It was easier back then, them being in the same place at the same time, but they'd made it work until Dallas. Vinny had met Caroline after that, brought Victoria into the world, and Brad had moved on and found love with Rechelle. He didn't have any regrets about how they'd handled the distance, but it still brought him a certain sense of melancholy to think about differently his life might have been.

As Brad flips through the pages, he lands on the one of him and Vinny. It makes a bubble of loss and pain settle in his throat as he tries to hold back a small sob. Vinny died that summer, just a few days after the photo was taken.

Vinny was on his way to Brad’s parents’ house to pick up Luca; Luca was going to stay with him and his wife, Caroline, while Rechelle and Brad went to dinner. Vinny had just taken the turn onto the curvy, two lane road a few blocks from their house when a driver in the other lane swerved to avoid a pothole and clipped the side of his Jeep. The police officer who called Brad said Vinny stood no chance as his Jeep flipped several times. Brad could visualize his face, how it would’ve been distorted in terror, eyes wide and panicked, and he collapsed in Rechelle’s arms and openly broke down right there in the restaurant.

Now, as Brad wipes the tears silently rolling down his cheek, he realizes his son’s old enough to understand. He goes to Luca’s room, shows him the album, explains how these are all places he’s going to take him. How much he loves him.

When he reaches the last page, the one with Vinny’s final serene smile, Luca asks softly, “Dad, why aren’t there more?”

Brad pulls Luca close and cards his calloused fingers in Luca’s thick chestnut hair. “I couldn’t do it anymore. Your Uncle Vinny-”, Brad breaks off. He’s never noticed how the setting sun transformed Vinny’s hair into a red-gold halo seems oddly fitting in retrospect. 

Through the tightness in his throat, Brad whispers, “He loved you within a moment of meeting you, Luca. We were fourteen when we met, just awkward teenagers at boarding school. One summer, I think we were sixteen, Vinny’s parents caught us sneaking back from the lake. We’d been out on their boat, fishing and drinking, and when they yelled at us, Vinny fell over. He was so tipsy from a few beers and the sun. We were always in some kind of trouble, but he was a good man, the very best, and he meant a lot to me. It felt wrong to keep moving on with the Buddy photos as if that summer was only another memory to be put in neat plastic pages…”

And maybe there are parts of their history that Brad’s going to keep to himself because if he tells the world, it’ll feel like giving up that small piece of Vinny only he possesses. His son doesn’t need to know that on that boat, during their second summer spent together, Vinny had kissed him and promised him forever with the taste of warm beer on his lips. Vinny’s voice had cracked from both emotion and puberty when he promised that no matter where they ended up, he’d always love Brad.

Luca is quiet for a long while, like he’s absorbing as much as his five year old brain can handle. He’s still silent as he brings his fingers to Brad’s face and brushes away the last stray droplets. He gently nestles into Brad’s side and finally speaks, “Dad, I woulda loved to meet Uncle Vinny. He seems like he was really nice, and maybe he could have teached me how to actually win faceoffs.”

**Author's Note:**

> Not going to lie, I am super, super nervous about this one. It's been my baby for so long, and I still don't feel like I've done it justice. That said, con crit/comments are, as always, welcome. Gentleness is appreciated though... :/


End file.
